How to Say
by Fire Bear1
Summary: It is nearing Alfred's birthday and Arthur is plagued with bad dreams about Alfred hating him. Unable to trust people with the words "I love you", what will happen when someone says those words to him...?
1. Dreams and Visitors

_**This story arose from a thought of "what would happen if Arthur could never say 'I love you' after the Revolution yet someone was in love with him and told him so?" And so, this.**_

* * *

"I wuv you Arfur!"

"I love you, too, Alfred."

Arthur grinned down at the small child before him, the little angel. His beautiful blonde hair with its cowlick blew about in the wind and his blue eyes glittered with energy, excitement and love. He grinned back before tugging at Arthur's hand, wanting him to follow. Arthur did so, smiling at the child.

Then the little boy grew impatient and let go of Arthur's hand, running off into the distance. Arthur chuckled at this childish behaviour until he ran behind a tree and out of sight. "A-Alfred?" he called, a little alarmed. He sped up and rounded the tree. He almost ran into a young man in a blue military outfit. "Ah! So-" he began but stopped short when he saw the man's appearance. He had blonde with a familiar cowlick and beautiful blue eyes. However, there was no love present as they looked towards him.

"Alfred?" whispered Arthur a little fearfully.

"What?" asked the man.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Arthur sighed. "I was worried. Well, let's go home. I'll make you lots of chips."

"Why?"

"'Why'?" repeated Arthur with a laugh. "Well, because I love you, of course." He smiled at the grown Alfred who stared blankly back.

"You still love me?"

"Well, of course. You love me too, don't you?" As soon as he asked, he became fearful of the answer. His heart hurt and he felt as if he couldn't breathe. He had to fight back the tears as he waited on an answer.

"No." Alfred's eyes were hard and Arthur felt a tear escape. This couldn't be happening, he decided. He had heard wrong. "I hate you," Alfred continued.

Arthur felt his world collapse. They had been in an open meadow, a lone tree interrupting it. Everything had been bright and beautiful. Now it all seemed dark and twisted, mocking the Englishman, the tree reaching to drag him into the abyss. He stumbled a little but managed to catch himself.

Alfred watched this with disinterest before suddenly turning and walking away. He didn't look back. Arthur gasped and began to rush after him. "Alfred!" he cried out in alarm, reaching out to him. Once more he stumbled. However, this time, he kept falling, the image of Alfred's back disappearing into the distant darkness that threatened to swallow Arthur. He gave a small sob as he lost sight of his precious brother.

* * *

Arthur sat bolt upright in bed, sweating and breathing heavily. He clutched at the quilt, his hand bunched into a fist as he tried to calm himself. He passed a hand across his brow. Was it nearing the end of June already? He sighed, threw the quilt off and swung his legs off the bed.

Before he could stand, however, there was a knock on his bedroom door. For a moment, he wildly thought it was Alfred. Then he remembered what time of the year it was and where the American would be. He frowned for a moment, thinking on who it was before calling out for them to come in.

The door opened to reveal someone who looked very like Alfred except for the curl and the violet eyes. He was carrying a small tray with tea. The man smiled softly at Arthur. "I made you some tea to waken you up a little," he said, quietly.

"Ah, thank you-" Arthur hesitated to remember the name.

"Matthew," the Canadian provided with a wince.

"Ah, yes, sorry." Arthur reached out for the tea and Matthew set the tray on the bedside table. He lifted the cup and saucer and handed them to the Brit who accepted it with a nod of thanks. "I had a... rather distracting dream... My head isn't in order yet."

Matthew nodded. "A nightmare," he said matter-of-factly.

Arthur glanced up at him with obvious alarm. Matthew was looking down at him with a kind, understanding expression. He had always been good with his perception. Arthur sighed and nodded before taking a sip of his tea. He smiled at the taste – he could always trust Matthew to make good tea, even if it was usually maple. Today, though, he had used Arthur's own English Breakfast Tea – probably because it had breakfast in the title.

"Well, once I've woken more, why don't I make us some breakfast and we can continue with our work?" Arthur suggested.

"It's alright," Matthew said, smiling a little more. "Francis is already taking care of that."

"Francis?!" exclaimed Arthur, almost spilling his tea. "What's the Frog doing here?!"

Matthew frowned a little. "Well, I'm not sure... But he's making breakfast. Then we can get to work, eh?"

Arthur clicked his tongue in annoyance but nodded and sipped at his tea. "Let me just get ready and I'll come down to join you." He set the cup and saucer on the table and stood, stretching. He was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and an old t-shirt – he had been too tired to find his pyjamas and had pulled these on instead. He spotted Matthew watching and blushed. "I-I'll go have a shower," he said, rubbing at his neck. He turned from the Canadian and walked off, tugging his t-shirt straight – it had been falling off one shoulder.

* * *

Half an hour later, Arthur entered the kitchen in a short sleeved shirt and a pair of smart jeans. He glared at Francis whose expression changed from happy to annoyed for a brief second before he smiled at the Englishman.

"Bonjour, Angleterre," he said. "What would you like to eat?"

Arthur gazed at the kitchen table. It was filled with food. Croissants and pain au chocolats along with various other pastries and fruits. A jug of orange juice had been prepared and there were a lot more condiments than normal. Arthur grimaced. He didn't believe it would be possible to eat all of this – the French way of eating was rather strange.

He sat down and shrugged. "Whichever you would suggest."

Francis thought for a moment before placing a fresh croissant and pain au chocolat on a plate and handing it to the newly awoken man. Arthur yawned and took it, pouring himself some orange juice and began to eat. He looked up across the table and thought he was looking at Alfred before reminding himself it was Matthew; he almost choked on a mouthful of pastry and chocolate until he realised.

"Eh, Arthur..." said Matthew hesitantly.

"Hm?" was the only reply he received.

"While you were in your shower, the phone rang, eh. And it was Alfred." Arthur's head snapped up to look at him with a frown. Matthew appeared to be agitated. "He's... eh... coming to visit..."

Arthur froze before swallowing his mouthful to reply. "Ah, yes. When? Some time in July, I suppose?"

"No. Today."

Arthur stared at Matthew. The Canadian looked at him, a worried expression on his face. "T-Today?" breathed Arthur. "But... Why? He's busy, is he not?"

"Well..."

"It looks as though you could use a cup of tea, mon cher," Francis interrupted them. "Wait just a moment." Francis went to the tea cupboard and grabbed a box at random before flicking the kettle on to boil. He retrieved a teapot and some cups before going to the fridge to fetch the milk. He froze with his head inside. "Ah."

Arthur, who had been trying to calm himself from having a panic attack – the dream had really shaken him – glanced round. Matthew rose from his chair. "Quel est le problème?" he asked, walking towards Francis.

"Il n'y a pas plus de lait," Francis explained to Matthew, glancing at the Brit.

"Eh..." replied Matthew, also glancing at Arthur. Arthur looked at them, his brow furrowing a little as he heard the French – it annoyed him to have it spoken in his house. Unfortunately, he was still feeling too panicked to scold them. He watched as Matthew made a decision. "Arthur, we need to go buy some more food for you. Will you be okay on your own?" Francis looked a little puzzled as Arthur nodded.

* * *

It was after Arthur had cleaned up the breakfast things that he heard the knock on the door. He frowned. Had he ordered anything? Was it someone delivering paperwork? His mind flashed to Alfred but he dismissed this – he could not have arrived so soon after calling. He went to the front door and opened it, peering out into the sunshine.

"Yo, Arthur!" exclaimed Alfred with a grin. He was wearing a t-shirt with a Captain America shield on it and a pair of worn jeans. A bag was slung over his shoulder.

Arthur tried to close the door.

"Hey! What're you doing?!" exclaimed Alfred, slamming a hand against the closing door and pushing against it. Arthur's grip on the handle slipped and the door banged into the wall.

"Oi!" exclaimed Arthur, angry.

"You have to let me in! It's important!"

"Huh?" Arthur barely had time to move aside as Alfred pushed past him and into the hallway. With a sigh, Arthur closed the door and turned. He folded his arms and glared at Alfred.

"Let's go sit down," Alfred said, grabbing Arthur's hand. Before the Englishman could protest, he dragged him into his own living room. He let go when he reached the couch and collapsed into it. Arthur winced, fearful his weight would break it. He sat down on the other end and looked at the American.

"What is it?" Arthur demanded, glaring at him.

"I love you, Arthur."

Arthur stared. Had he just heard that? Was he hearing things? Was this another dream? He could feel himself tearing up as his heart was pulled in several different directions. "W-Wha-? Why...?"

"I love you as family, Arthur."

Arthur stared wide-eyed for a moment before his expression changed. He glared at Alfred before speaking. "Is this a joke? Do you think this is funny?" He stood up. "I'm going to make some tea. Get out of my house."

"No! Wait-!" Arthur felt a grip on his wrist and he was pulled backwards. Losing his balance, he fell onto the couch closer to Alfred than he had been. Shocked, his eyes wide, a blush on his cheeks, he turned to the American, glaring. His expression softened, however, when he saw the worried and anxious look on Alfred's face. Was he actually being serious? "I told you I love you," Alfred continued. "What do you say to that?"

"I- What? What do you want me to say? You're not being serious!" Arthur gave a harsh laugh. "And even if you do, you'll tell me you hate me and leave me. Everyone does that." A sad look crossed Arthur's face before he glowered at Alfred. "What is the meaning of this, Alfred? Why are you lying to me?"

"If... If _anyone_ told you that, would you accept it or would you be suspicious?"

Arthur wrenched his arm from Alfred's grip. "I don't know what you would want me to say in such a situation-"

"Tell me you love me!"

The sound of the slap rang around the room for a few seconds after it had hit. Arthur's eyes were bulging with shock and anger. He stood up and glared down at Alfred, panting. Alfred, in turn, looked up at Arthur, a red mark on his face and tears in his eyes from the force of the blow.

"How- How dare you?!" exclaimed Arthur. "Don't you _dare_ ever tell me to say something like that to you! I will never say that to you ever again!"

Alfred looked at him sadly before taking a breath and standing to speak. "I don't want you to say it to me. But there is someone who will tell you those same words soon. You _have_ to respond. You have to tell them you love them!"

"Don't tell me what I should and shouldn't do, Alfred! I can decide for myself whether I- Regardless, just because you tell me to, won't make me."

"But could you say it to someone if they told you that. And if you loved them. Will you say it?"

Arthur glared up at the American. Then his expression softened and he sighed. He turned away from Alfred and shook his head. "Everyone I once loved left me. How can I say something like that so easily again?"

There was a noise behind him as if Alfred wanted to say something but couldn't. Then silence reigned for a few minutes until, all of a sudden, they heard the front door open. "We're back!" called the soft voice of Matthew. The general clatter of people moving about in the kitchen filtered through to them before, finally, the two men looked at each other. Alfred looked worried: Arthur was wearing a weary expression. Alfred sighed before walking to the door and, after taking deep breaths at the door, rushed through with a loud laugh. He was going to pretend their conversation had not happened. Arthur wondered why...

* * *

Later, Alfred was tucked up in bed – the jet lag and running around had tired him out. Francis had drunk a lot of wine in his efforts to keep up with what Alfred was talking about and had passed out drunk in Arthur's bed (he had somehow found his way to that room and Arthur had found him in there). Also exhausted, Arthur accepted the maple tea from Matthew with a relieved smile. "Thank you," he said as he took the cup. He sipped it in relief.

"Are you okay, Arthur?" asked Matthew, all of a sudden.

Arthur looked up and found himself staring into Matthew's violet eyes. He seemed to know that there had been something troubling Arthur all day. The Brit averted his eyes.

"Well, just a stupid dream. And Alfred's..." He trailed off, trying to make it sound as if it was to do with the time of year. When he glanced back up, however, Matthew was still staring at him as if he knew there was something else on his mind. Then he looked down at his own cup and sighed.

"I have something I need to tell you, Arthur," he said.

"Hm?"

Matthew took a breath. "I want you to know that, when I became independent of you, it wasn't because I disliked living with you. I loved it, in fact. It was just so that, as a country, I could grow. I could grow and become as equal to you as I could."

"Why are you bringing this up now?" asked Arthur, grimacing. He was feeling a little on edge. This subject was the one that hurt him the most and Matthew knew this. What exactly did he need to tell him?

"Well, you think that everyone who left you hated you. But I didn't. And I still don't. I loved you as a brother for so long. And then, when Alfred left you, it was painful to watch you break apart. Because I loved you. And I still do."

Arthur stared at Matthew who was looking at his cup. The light glinted off his glasses and Arthur blinked before he spoke. "You... You want me... to be... your brother... again?" he asked, hesitantly.

Matthew looked up. "No. I love you, Arthur."

They stared at each other for a few moments. Then both of them reddened and tried to speak. Arthur finally managed to say something. "W-What...?"

"Eh, well, you don't need to respond. I know how difficult it is for you to trust people now. With those words. I-I'll let you think about it. Eh... Well, I should be going. I, eh, have work to do. Eh. I have to get a plane. Eh. Well... Eh..." Flustered, Matthew rose and hurriedly set his cup on the coffee table. "Au revoir, Arthur," he added. For a moment he seemed to be about to reach towards his former brother. Then he turned and left the room.

Arthur stared at the space where he had been, still processing what had just happened. Then his eyes flickered down to Matthew's cup and he gazed at it. What should he do now?

* * *

_**I hope you all don't mind it being Maple Tea - I wanted to try a different pairing. Also, I didn't want it to be USUK despite Alfred saying "I love you". I hope you like it!  
**_


	2. The Frog's Advice

_**I'm going to**** apologise in advance for how confusing this might seem. I'll explain later but it may be a bit confusing? Sorry. =/**_

* * *

Arthur woke to find Alfred leaning over him. His forefinger was pointed at his face. "Oh, you're awake," said Alfred innocently before poking one of Arthur's eyebrows. The Brit smacked his hand away and sat up.

"What are you doing?" he grumbled as he stretched.

"Waking you up," said Alfred with a shrug. "Why were you sleeping on the couch, anyway?"

Trying not to look at Matthew's cup which he had left on the coffee table, Arthur rolled his eyes. "My bed was being used by a frog," he explained. "And I only closed my eyes for a moment." He had closed them the night before in despair, wondering what he should do about Matthew. He must have gradually fallen asleep and slipped down until he was lying. He ran a hand through his hair. "Is he gone?"

"Who?"

"The Frog."

"Who, Francey-pants? He's in the kitchen. He said something about saving us from your awful cooking."

"What?!" snapped Arthur as he stood. He glared at Alfred.

"Hey," Alfred replied, raising his hands in surrender. "His words, not mine, dude."

Grumbling, Arthur shuffled off. "I'm going to the bathroom. Make sure _he_ doesn't get in," he mumbled on his way.

"Wait!" Alfred grabbed Arthur's arm and stopped him.

"What is it?" asked Arthur with a tired look.

"Did anything happen last night?"

Arthur froze for a second. Now he understood Alfred's actions from the day before. He knew that Matthew had been planning to tell Arthur that he loved him. But Arthur had done nothing. If he told Alfred this, he would get an earful. And he was still uncertain – Alfred's admonishments and moaning would not serve to help him. Arthur carefully arranged his expression so that he looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

He watched Alfred hesitate. Then he beamed down at him. "Nothing! I'm hungry! Isn't Francey finished yet?" And with that he bounded from the room in search of something to fill his stomach.

Sighing, Arthur also exited the room. He made his way to the bathroom to waken himself up. He soon found himself staring into the mirror. Matthew loved him. And in a romantic way. He had never thought anyone would be capable of that. Except the Frog but he didn't count. Perhaps he should have said something. But he wasn't sure how he felt. And he was still confused. Matthew was kind and caring and only ever did his best for Arthur. Of course, he had broken away but, as he had said, he was a nation and needed to grow. And he had. He was a beautiful young man and a beautiful nation. Not forgetting the fact that he was still part of the Commonwealth. He hadn't completely broken away as it were. Arthur was proud of him – but he was proud of all his former brothers and sisters. Matthew had always taken care of him when he needed it. His devotion was touching and it made Arthur feel... what? Wanted? Needed? Cared for?

Still not sure how he felt about the man who loved him, Arthur climbed into the shower. When he emerged from his bathroom in a towel, he found Francis outside the room. The Frenchman leered at him, amused at the compromising situation the Brit was in. "Alfred has left. It is just the two of us, mon amour," he informed Arthur. He winked at the scowling at Englishman. "Et... I think I must go aussi. It has been... nice." Francis looked Arthur up and down with a smirk before turning to leave.

"Wait!" exclaimed Arthur, taking even himself by surprise. "I need you!"

Francis turned round with a triumphant grin. "Oui?"

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," growled Arthur. "I need your help with something..."

"Vraiment?" asked Francis, raising an amused eyebrow.

"It's about Matthew but I'm getting dressed before we discuss this further." He turned to make his way to his bedroom.

"Ah," said Francis, sounding serious. Arthur glanced over his shoulder and found him smiling. "He told you, oui?"

"Told me?" Arthur blinked. "What... What do you mean, exactly?"

"He said 'je t'aime', did he not?"

"Of course he didn't!" said Arthur. "He said it in English," he added with a smug smile once Francis had given him a confused look.

* * *

Once Arthur had dressed in a shirt, tie and a pair of black trousers, he rejoined Francis in the living room. He sat on the opposite couch from him and Francis gazed at him. There was silence for a moment before Arthur broke it. "Well?"

"Well what, cher?"

"What do I do now?"

"Perhaps you could elaborate...?"

"What do you mean?"

Francis sighed and shook his head. "Cher, when Matthieu told you that he loved you, what did you do?"

"Ah, well, I, uh..." Arthur blushed. He was beginning to regret asking Francis to stay. If he asked him to go into details, he wasn't sure he could tell him. "He... I... Nothing... He left before I could do anything."

"Oui. I expected as much..."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" snapped Arthur.

"I only meant that you would be too shocked to do anything. Et Matthieu is un peu shy, non?" Francis leaned back on his couch and crossed his legs. This was an action which usually caught Arthur's attention – he knew the Frenchman was trying to be provocative. His reaction was always to shout at him but today he ignored it.

"Yes, yes. _What do I do_?!"

The blue-eyed man gazed at him. "You love him, oui?"

Arthur hesitated. Did he? This panic inside him, was it love? And was it the same kind of love as Matthew's? If he didn't love Matthew as anything other than a brother, would Matthew turn away from him, too? The thought tore him apart – he couldn't lose Matthew. "I... I think I do," he answered. No sense in telling the Frog a definite answer – he didn't want to be mocked in his own home.

"Bien!" said Francis, uncrossing his legs and leaning forwards. "The first step is acknowledging your feelings. Now, we must think of a magnifique et romantique way pour you to express those feelings."

"Like what?" Arthur asked, suspicious.

Francis rose from his place and crossed to the window which overlooked Arthur's garden. The Brit watched him, eyes narrowed. "This is a beau garden, cher," said Francis. "Et look at all those belles roses rouge! I think you have what you need, chéri." He winked at the Englishman who sighed and rolled his eyes.

Standing, Arthur made his way over to stand beside him. "I understand the concept of giving flowers, thank you," he said, icily. "It's what to say when I hand them over." _And how to act,_ he thought to himself.

For a moment, Francis tapped his chin. Then he smiled at Arthur – the Brit had a bad feeling. "Why not act it out with moi before you try it with Matthieu? Say what you think you should say et then I can tell you whether it needs... work."

Arthur looked at him dubiously. "Well..."

* * *

After insisting that Arthur put on his best suit, the Brit stood at the door to his own living room, a bouquet of roses in his hand. He fussed over it, tweaking them into better positions. Finally, he deemed them satisfactory. However, he then glanced into a mirror and noticed that his tie was crooked. He began to fiddle with it, dreading having to knock on the closed door of his own room.

Eventually, he heard a cough from inside. Francis was getting impatient. He sighed, took a breath and then knocked on the door. There was a brief period of time where Arthur thought that Francis wasn't going to open the door and he had been fooled. Suddenly, though, the door was opened and the sight that met him almost had him burst out in laughter.

The Frenchman had found one of Matthew's many Canadian hooded jumpers and had pulled that on. He had then styled his hair to match the Canadian and had even stuck in a curl of wire he had procured from somewhere. A pair of Arthur's glasses was perched on his nose and he had an overly surprised expression on his face, a hand to his heart.

"Mon Dieu! Arthur! I did not expect to see you today!" Francis smiled down at him.

Arthur resisted the impulse to snort. He cleared his throat and held out the flowers. "These are for you. If you want them. I mean, if you don't, I can just take them back. Well, they won't go back on the bush but..." His eyes widened and his words caught in his throat. He was becoming flustered again, thinking of Matthew. Reddening, he tried to continue. "Well, uh... This is... just a... birthday gift," he finished lamely, not able to say what he really wanted to.

After a short pause, Francis took the glasses off and looked at him, an eyebrow raised. "Well... It is a good start, I suppose... Mais... Try not to talk about the fleurs, oui? Say, 'these are for you' et then you leave it at that."

"Um, yes, I see. But what do I say-?"

"Non, non. Try again by yourself," said Francis as he closed the door.

The poor British man blinked and sighed. He didn't want to do this any more. Wishing he had never asked Francis for help, he knocked on the door once again. The Frenchman answered, wearing the glasses again.

"Ah, bonjour, Arthur! I did not expect to see- Oh?" he said, pretending to see the flowers for the first time. "Are those for me?"

"Uh... Yes," said Arthur, glancing away. He held the roses at arm's length, biting at his lip. They were gently taken from him by Francis. "I-I picked them myself," he added, unsure of what to say.

"Magnifique!" exclaimed Francis. Arthur glanced at him and found him grinning happily. "Merci, Arthur, merci!"

Arthur's suspension of disbelief evaporated. "You're being way too loud Frog! And he doesn't speak in French when he's around me."

With a sigh, Francis shrugged. "Fine. I will go back inside and we will try again." He shoved the roses back into Arthur's arms and swung the door shut.

"Be careful!" snapped Arthur as he watched it swing to. Grumbling to himself about Frogs and their legs, Arthur knocked on the door once again. Francis opened it immediately, trying not to scowl. He forced a smile. "Hello, Arthur. How are you?" he asked in a quiet voice.

The smaller man froze. It was unbelievable how much Francis sounded like Matthew in that instance. His eyes widened and he moved his mouth to speak – nothing came out. A rustling sound alerted him to the presence of the bouquet and he held it out. "... F-For you..." he managed to whisper.

"Are you all right, cher?" asked Francis in his normal voice, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Y-Yes," Arthur managed. He cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm fine!" he snapped. "Just get on with it!"

"I will go back in. Let us try that again." The Frenchman retreated back in and gently closed the door. For what felt like the millionth time, Arthur knocked on the door and Francis answered. "Hello, Arthur," he said once again, his voice quiet and calm. "What brings you here?"

"Um. Well... Here." He handed over the flowers. Francis acted surprised and took them, smiling. "I... wanted to give you this present."

"Vrai- _Really_?" Francis corrected himself. "They are very beautiful, cher- _Arthur_. Thank you."

Arthur nodded, ignoring the French. "Well, I just looked out of my window and saw these growing. I thought of you and- I mean, I thought- I remembered your birthday and thought... Well, you always loved my flowers. So, these would be a good present, or so I thought."

"They are a fantastic present Arthur. Thank you for thinking about me," said Francis with a kind smile. He looked so much like Matthew – except for the beard – that Arthur felt his heart racing. He had to do the next bit as Francis had encouraged. They had to discuss the love thing. And he was feeling nervous. "But..." Francis continued. Arthur's heart stopped in fear and confusion. "These are red roses – and there are a dozen of them. You do know what that means, oui- don't you?"

The Brit froze once again. Of course he knew what it meant. That was the whole intention, according to Francis. But what was he supposed to say now? Or do? "Um, well. Yes, but... I mean... It's a birthday present," he said lamely, not sure whether that would help or not.

"Is it just a birthday present?" asked Francis with a slight frown.

It nearly killed Arthur to see someone so like Matthew frowning at him. He wasn't sure if this was because of love or some other emotion but it caused him to turn red again. He could also feel himself tearing up a little. "It's- It's not just... I mean, if you want it to just be... It can be something... You can... Um..."

Francis placed a gentle hand on Arthur's arm. "It is okay, Arthur. I think I understand. You are trying to tell me that you love me, yes?"

Taking a deep breath, Arthur willed himself to say it. He closed his eyes for a moment. _Say it! Say it! I love you. Three words. Say them._ He looked up at Francis again, straight in the eye and opened his mouth. "I..." He trailed off when he noticed Francis' expression. The Frenchman looked smug, as if Arthur was playing straight into his hands. And Arthur realised that he had been about to say 'I love you' to Francis. Not to Matthew, but to Francis – of all people! And he had no doubt in his mind that Francis was going to take advantage of it. His eyes narrowed and he spoke. "I hate you, you stupid wine bastard! How dare you try to trick me into declaring any sort of feelings for you! Get out of my house, you berk!"

The Frenchman looked taken aback. Then he scowled. "This is what I get for helping you, Rosbif. I should remember this for the next time!"

"I doubt you'll be able to keep your big nose out of my business!"

"It is not just your business, you lourdaud thé suceurs batard. It is Matthieu's business et mine, by extension. I was only trying to help."

"I don't need your help! Get out!"

"That was not what you were saying earlier. Who will you ask for help now?"

"I have friends, you know! I will just ask them. Now get out of my house, Frog!"

"I did not want to stay here much longer, anyway," said Francis spitefully, glaring at Arthur. "You will never be able to say 'I love you' to anyone important."

Arthur watched him leave, making sure he left the grounds before slamming the front door shut. One of his embroideries which decorated the hall fell. He sighed as he picked it up and replaced it. Glancing at the roses he had thrown onto a table, Arthur passed a hand across his face, trying to control his emotions. Francis was right, as much as he hated to admit it – he doubted he would ever be able to tell Matthew how he felt. If he ever figured out how he did feel, at any rate.

"I need help," he muttered to himself. But who could he ask?

* * *

_**So, it may be confusing because I wanted Arthur to be confused about how he's feeling to begin with. He doesn't know whether he loves him or not, if he still thinks of him as a brother or not, if he can love Matthew, etc, etc. So, the story might feel a little at odds with itself. At the moment, Arthur doesn't want to lose Matthew and thinks that, unless he tells Matthew "I love you", that's exactly what will happen.  
**_

_**Francis calls Arthur a "clumsy tea-sucking bastard" when they exchange insults towards the end. (It was going to be "tea-sucking oaf" but then I translated it into French and it came out "clumsy tea-sucking".)  
**_

_**I just realised that Francis must have taken the glasses and hoodie with him. Whoops. Oh, well.**_

_**I enjoyed writing Francis and Arthur arguing. I don't think I've ever properly done that where they don't llove each other before - new things are fun! :)**_


End file.
